


The F Word

by livesybaby



Series: I'll be needing stitches [3]
Category: Emmerdale
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-02
Updated: 2016-04-02
Packaged: 2018-05-30 19:19:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6437071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livesybaby/pseuds/livesybaby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part 3</p>
            </blockquote>





	The F Word

It’s Tuesday and apart from a few rushed texts and stolen glances across The Woolpack we haven’t spoken properly in six days. I’m at the bar with Adam, nodding convincingly as Vic retells us the story of how she saw Gordon Ramsay in Waitrose last week. It’s the nineteenth time I’ve heard the story and the plotline’s wearing thin. 

 

Diane is listening intently like it’s the first time she’s heard she’s telling us about how she likes Hell’s Kitchen but forgot to watch The F Word. I’m swirling the last few drops of lager around in the bottom of my pint glass and thinking about how I’ve got to go do a shift at the garage after this. I’m about to leave when Robert opens the door, Chrissie walks in before him. Her high pitched voice shatters the silence of the pub and I can’t help remembering something my primary school teacher said about inside voices. 

 

I smirk at the memory before draining my glass, sliding off my stool and out of the double doors before Robert gets a chance to throw me that awkward smile he always does when he’s out with his real love. It’s raining outside and I’ve left my hoodie in the back room, there’s no chance I’m doing the walk of shame back into The Woolpack so I pull the cuffs of my long-sleeve Fenchurch T-shirt over my hands and head over to the garage, letting the rain wash the last bit of gel from my hair.

Cain’s in a mood. Debbie hasn’t contacted him in over a fortnight and Ross hasn’t stopped pestering him about it. Ross the tough guy, rough around the edges and with a glare as hard as stone that’s now been reduced to a lovesick puppy all because my cousin showed him a bit of skin. Cain’s shouting at someone down the phone, another loyal customer that he’s lost because he can’t keep his emotions in check. 

Ross leaves early, something about a headache. Normally Cain would lose it but he’s glad to see the back of him, there’s an awkward silence in the garage and I need to leave early to get some paperwork done at the scrapyard but it’s not worth pissing Cain off for. I work overtime until it’s dark and there aren’t any more cars on the forecourt. Cain left hours ago, I thought he’d come back but I was wrong. 

I lock up the garage and get in my car, I text Mum to tell her I won’t be home for tea before I see Robert and Chrissie walk out of David’s hand in hand, sickly in love. I stall the car. My face is red, I can feel the blush burning me as I restart the car, I wonder if he’s seen me, I know he’s seen me. I bet he’s laughing, I bet they’re both laughing. 

I’ve been at the scrapyard for an hour and half. It’s freezing and I’m now wishing I had the guts to go back to the pub and get my hoodie. My overalls are in the boot of my car, I’m dressed in my oldest tracksuit bottoms and the same shirt as earlier. I’m wearing Adams High-Vis vest because mine’s in my bedroom, it’s huge on me and the material feels stiff. 

I’ve had these tracksuit bottoms since I left school, the washing machine broke this morning and I had to dig them out from the back of my wardrobe. The knees are barely there, frayed around the edges and the drawstring is missing. I curse myself again for not going clothes shopping but I don’t have time between shifts here and at the garage, Robert offered to take me a few times but I’d end up with a wardrobe of outfits I’d only ever wear to court. 

It’s after Eleven by the time I’m finished with the paperwork, I lock up as my stomach rumbles – a sign that I haven’t eaten since this morning, I make a plan to eat as much junk food as possible when I get home. All thoughts of food are shoved to the back of my head once I get in the car and it won’t start. I check the fuel gauge: Empty. I bang my head against the steering wheel, muttering a string of Fucks as I get my phone out of my pocket. 

The battery is dead which is just my luck, I sigh as I lock up the car and shove the keys in my pocket. I kick the gravel as I make my way down the road, it’s only a twenty minute walk to the village but it’s dark and I’m tired and my knees are weak. It takes all my strength not to sleep on the roadside. 

The silence is unnerving, there isn’t a lamp in sight and the trees are making noises like serial killers in the shadows. I’m so cold it’s as though my entire skeleton is shivering and my skin is like ice. I hear the hum of a car in the distance, it’s getting closer and half of me hopes it’s not a murderer but half of me wants out of this life.

The car comes into view and I think how I’d have preferred it to be a murderer instead of the white Audi that’s coming to a stop next to me. “Need a lift?” comes the arrogant voice from the tinted windows and I want to tell him to fuck off but I’m freezing and I’m tired and he’s here.

The car is like a furnace. Robert always feels the cold so he’s got the heating on full, I always complain but tonight I’m so grateful for his poor circulation. “do you not own a coat?” he asks, breaking the silence but I’m too tired to think of a witty answer. 

I find myself telling him about my day, like he cares or something. There’s something about Robert that makes it so easy to talk to him, like I want to hate him but I can’t help but feel comfortable in his presence. He’s in a different mood today, he’s not looking at me in that way that makes me feel inferior. He’s making me feel like he wants to be with me and I can’t help but take advantage of these rare moments. 

He puts his hand on top of mine and I almost sigh at the heat difference. He’s tracing circles with his thumb and it’s only now that I realise he’s not heading back to Emmerdale. I don’t question him, I just rest my head against the back of the seat and listen to the radio. 

It’s after midnight now and we’re parked at the edge of a country lane, we’re sat in the back seat together with the radio still humming. We’re eating chinese food that we picked up on the way here, Robert ordered me a Chow Mein without beansprouts and I was surprised that he remembered. He’d shoved his phone in the back of the glove box, no distractions he promised and It was like I forgot all about his other life.


End file.
